Give Up, Go On
by Bookwrm389
Summary: "I was saving it for my own son, but right now your need is greater." It is not healthy to cling to what might have been, not right to live with a hopeless dream. But Jak is here, Jak is right in front of him.


_A.N. Wow, this is short. Not much to say except I always wondered why Damas gave Jak that armor toward the end of the third game._

Give Up, Go On

For the first time in years, Damas took it out of the locked chest in his sleeping quarters. Dusted it off, polished the Precursor metal until it shone, and for a long time he simply skimmed his hands over it, seeing his own careworn face in the reflective surface. Too many years of harsh living and heartbreak. It is not healthy to cling to what might have been, not right to live with a hopeless dream. It makes a man weak, and Damas has always despised weakness.

Legend has it this armor was worn by Mar himself, but he privately doubts it. It seems awfully small for the legendary warrior. Damas wasn't able to buckle it around his own broad chest when he found it in the Wastes, and he ended up setting it aside with a regretful sigh.

Perhaps he will give it to his son when he is old enough, he thought.

But time passed. The world continued to revolve year after year, and that distant dream began to wane, the troubles of today eclipsing the nightmares of the past. It was with a start earlier this year that Damas realized he is beginning to forget his son's face. There is only a faint shadow that his shattered heart is terrified to relinquish. It would break him to give up, it _must _break him because to pick himself up and move on from this stasis he has locked himself in would be the worst kind of betrayal.

But that is the law of the Wasteland. Stand up and go on, or lay down and die, and he cannot choose death yet.

What a hypocrite he would seem to Jak if he did.

Sig noticed the armor resting near the throne, recognized it even though it was wrapped with a cloth. His guarded question echoed off the still pools of water, and Damas could not bring himself to lie.

_I am considering giving it to Jak._

Surprise, then a troubled look thrown his way. _But what about...?_

Damas let his gaze drift to the side, his heart breaking open and bleeding all over again. He expected and heard the familiar litany, the promise renewed yet again but with less and less conviction each time. And he knew then that he could not keep doing this. Not to himself, not to Sig.

_My son is dead. I think it's time we both accepted it_.

Sig left the throne room with a hand over his face to hide his tears, great shoulders slumped despite being relieved of his mission and no doubt believing himself to be at fault somehow. For not finding him, for failing to protect him in the first place. Damas knows better, and so does Sig, but that won't make the pain any easier to bear.

_I just...Damas, I can't shake the feeling that he's out there waitin' for us to find him. We can't just...it feels too much like we're giving up._

_...we are._

"What is that?"

Those are the first words out of Jak's mouth when he returns to Spargus weeks later, coupled with a curious nod. Damas brushes his fingers over the armor, one last moment of weakness before he rises and offers it to Jak. Blue eyes widen when the wrappings fall away, revealing the Precursor metal. It might be one of the oldest relics he has ever seen.

"It's yours, if you want it. I was saving it for my own son, but right now your need is greater."

Jak gives him a startled look, which becomes very grave indeed. Understanding exactly what accepting this gift will mean to them both, perhaps honored and a little awed by it. The shadowed memory brings an ache to his chest, but Damas does not allow it to interfere. Jak is here, Jak is right in front of him, and Damas is far from blind, unable to deny this broken boy the love and approval that his eyes beg for but his pride refuses to ask for.

Yes, his need is truly greater.

Jak hefts the armor. "Can I...?"

Damas helps him fasten it into place over his tunic. It fits perfectly, light enough not to impede his movements and strong enough to repel blades and bullets alike. Jak passes a hand down the front with a trace of reverence, then looks up nervously. "I...I don't have anything for you..."

He shakes his head. Trade and barter is the way of the Wasteland, but not so with family. Damas clasps shoulder firmly. "You give us all hope. That is gift enough."

Jak smiles at him, really smiles, and for an instant he is whole again. If there are shadows in his own heart, they are a torment no longer, and while Jak might never actually call him _father_, the word and the love behind it are still in the air between them. Along with another.

_Son_.


End file.
